Agent Jarvis
by WonderStarLord
Summary: A world in which Kal-El became Katz Jarvis.
1. Hope

**Agent Jarvis**

 _A world in which Kal-El became Katz Jarvis._

Disclaimer: This is _fic_. You know the drill …

Notes: Ripping pages of cannon and continuity and papier-mâchéing them into something new. Trying to account for as many fallen domino tracks as I can. Sticking with _Smallville_ characters and events on the MCU spectrum as much as possible. However, there may be some sneaky cameos and cheeky allusions here and there.

Recommended Viewing: _Agent Carter_ S02E08 "The Edge of Mystery"

* * *

 **October 16, 1989**

"Do we call Virgil?" asked Maria Stark, contemplative, tiredly staring at the stars through the head-sized, pill-shaped window. She sat perfectly upright on her buttery leather seat in her husband's favourite plane, all poise and grace, even in her present exhaustion.

Howard sighed deeply and ran a weary hand over his lined, narrow face. He had aged gracefully – and rather miraculously, given the Great Cessnacapade of '72 and the reconstructive surgery that he'd required thereafter.

It had been an eventful day.

Thanks to the data from Virgil Swann's constellation ( _heh_ ) of satellites, Howard knew that this week was going to be an important week for a small farm town in Kansas called Smallville (y _ep, you read it right, folks – a small town called Smallville!_ ). The recklessly spirited (his wife's words), insatiably curious (his own more apt description) scientist that he was simply had to witness the once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon in person.

Dubious but unflinching, Maria had followed Howard into the fray, as she always did. As those who strolled outdoors during a meteor shower hurling a fiery hell on earth tended to, she had come within inches of losing her life several times. Howard marvelled that _she_ had the gall to call _him_ reckless! At least he had stayed in the car with Jarvis when it started raining rocks.

Today was an eventful day, supposed to be shared amongst friends – friends in addition to his wonderful wife (the best friend he'd ever had) and his loyal butler (the best Brit he knew, _don't tell Peg_ ).

Virgil couldn't make the trip for obvious reasons. His full-body paralysis and the wheelchair he had been stuck in since the accident that tragically took the life of his wife would have made their trek across dirt roads and cornfields difficult.

The Teagues were "busy" in Europe, scouring the globe. Genevieve and Edward were still unhealthily obsessed with those damn stones and had seen fit to drag along their poor five-year-old son, who was probably bored out of his mind. Children should never be bored – a lesson Howard had learned from his own son, Tony. The kid was too impulsive and far too intelligent for the good of anyone – one reason, among many, why he had sent him to school so early, and then shipped off to _boarding_ school so soon.

Robert and Laura Queen had gone missing on their way to meet with a diplomat in Bangkok. They hadn't been seen or heard from in two days and were _already_ presumed to be dead. The business world, with which Howard was intimately familiar, was a ruthlessly efficient and unforgiving ecosystem under the impression that it couldn't afford to care.

Finally, there was Lionel Luthor. He was definitely not a _friend_ , and more of a begrudging acquaintance that Howard wouldn't have had if not for his involvement with Veritas. Frankly, he had little idea what that man was up to on a _good_ day. It took valuable S.H.I.E.L.D. resources to keep an eye on Lionel, and Howard was counting down the days until he no longer had to waste them on him.

Howard received intelligence that Lionel had been sniffing around the area for weeks, greasing palms and buying land, but he hadn't seen the menacing slink of the sharp-toothed, sharper-clawed savage in person. Definitely a good thing. They didn't get on particularly well – at all – in any sense of the word, if he was being entirely honest. Howard Stark had met many unsavoury characters in his seventy-nine years, and even been one himself when he was young and climbing ladders and smashing ceilings in pursuit of the good old American dream, but Lionel was his own special kind of slime. If Howard wanted to see more false faces and listen to slippery tongues, he would spend more time at the Triskelion. Or Maria's cocktail parties – super spies and bored socialites actually had an alarming amount in common.

Maria pensively tilted her head towards Howard and began twirling a lock of shiny blonde hair that had escaped her stylish updo over the tumultuous course of the day. "… Or is this a _Peggy_ phone call?"

Mr and Mrs Stark turned in unison to look at the delighted older woman playing with a beaming toddler, who was happily bouncing on her lap. The woman, as vivacious as the bright clothing she favoured, had grey hair that gave the tiniest hint of its formerly red glory. She was almost two decades older than Maria but six years younger than Howard. The peach-cheeked boy in her lap was wrapped in a red tartan blanket that Howard had insisted their butler, Edwin Jarvis, pack for the potentially romantic post-meteor shower picnic he decided might be nice on the flight over.

Maria's fingers stilled in her hair and she clasped a tight hand, applying the pressure of sympathy and plea and hope, around Howard's. They shared a sad smile.

"I think I'll be forgiven for a little compartmentalisation on this one," said Howard, his snow white moustache twitching over his solemnly quirked lips. "At least, for a little while."


	2. Tiny Human

**December 23, 1989**

Hands shoved in his pockets, Tony Stark carelessly bypassed the main house and ambled over to the neat little residence where the Jarvises lived. He was a ridiculous sight in his graphic t-shirt and his board shorts whilst surrounded by a timely Northeast winter and the penguin habitat that accompanied it. Last he heard, the family was spending the holidays in Los Angeles, and he was unwilling to admit that he had been remiss to realise this was no longer the case. One did not admit to wrongdoing when one was a Stark.

He had just returned from a somewhat extended global sojourn, during which he was supposed to be deciding what – "productive endeavour, Tony!" ( _thanks, Dad_ ) – he wanted to do next. He had been travelling "aimlessly" ( _which, OK, not entirely inaccurate_ ) since graduating from MIT. Summa cum laude. Top of his class. Big deal, right? Well, not according to his old man. Nothing he accomplished ever seemed like a big enough deal to _dear old Dad_.

Tony was thinking of schooling in Switzerland, cracking the eggheads at Oxbridge or ETH Zurich, a whole wonderful ocean away from the _great_ Howard Stark. He had always been one of those strange kids who loved school. And not just because he was good – no, great – _hey, let's be honest here_ – the _best_ at whatever he did, wherever he went. You see, he was a weirdo who liked actually being _liked_ , which wasn't likely to happen at home.

He knew his mom loved him, but – as a socialite, philanthropist, humanitarian, and the wife of Howard Stark – she was a busy woman. Ana Jarvis, his erstwhile nanny, had respectfully given him his space since he was fourteen and he kicked up a fuss about being babied when he was "a complete and total grown-up, lady!" Edwin Jarvis, the Jarvis that he hadn't been too embarrassed to push away, had been his dad's butler longer than he'd been alive, watching over him his whole life. There was no one that Tony trusted more. Jarvis was the most reliable person he knew, keeping an amusingly precise schedule and having an ever-growing list of things to do; errands to run; places to be for his dad.

Like now, for instance.

Jarvis had barely unloaded Tony's luggage from the trunk of one of his dad's precious cars when he'd been called away to attend to "pressing matters for Mr Stark" (Tony had interpreted "pressing matters" with the subtext: _more important_ ). But not before smiling like Tony didn't think he had ever seen before and telling him to see Ana after settling in. Tony assumed that the Jarvises had gotten a new dog. Gigantic, excitable Arno IV had died from old age months after Tony ploughed through his last year of college. _Summa cum laude_. _Top of his class_. _No biggie_.

Tony didn't bother settling in – like he ever could, sharing a house with his dad – seeing as he planned to escape the Stark Gulag as soon as he could. He was dressed for the California sun in the New York snow, and he had never been a big fan of the blasted cold. So, on second thought, maybe forget Europe. Forget Oxford, forget Cambridge, forget Zurich. Maybe Caltech was the way to go, dumb college rivalries be damned. He had always liked California.

Tony flipped the black plastic shades on the end of his freezing red nose to rest back on his messy dark hair with a consciously nonchalant finger. _No_ , it wasn't shaking. _No_ , he was not shivering. He then hastily beelined for the Jarvises' house and didn't bother knocking before or during or after he let himself in.

Karma had given him mere seconds to indulgently sigh in the indoor heating, before …

"What the –?"

Tony looked down. A red toy car had crashed into his neon yellow sneakers the moment his foot hit the cream living room carpet. _His_ red toy car. Tony knelt and shook his head, bemused. He knew, if this was in fact his old toy car, the remote should've been broken and that couldn't have happened. His sad little eight-year-old self had thrown the remote control against his bedroom wall after painstakingly repairing it – which he'd felt totally justified in doing because his dad did it first.

"Katz!" Ana's Hungarian accent – which had stubbornly remained strong after decades in the good old U.S. of A. – rang from another room.

Tony was startled by the sudden appearance of a –

"Tiny human," he uttered, startled.

It had appeared suddenly, like, blink-and-you'll-miss-it _sudden_. Tony froze. The tiny human in its hilarious tiny suit and shorts combo, like it was supposed to be a tiny dark-haired Jarvis, hugged his legs. _Hard_. He did not make whatever wimpy noise that may or may not have escaped his mouth at the surprising pressure.

Ana, her once red hair now grey but her warm smile as bright as ever, trotted into the living room in an exuberant flurry of homespun-yarn and floral-printed cloth. "Oh, _csillagom_! There you are!" Her loving gaze shifted up from the tiny-suited tiny human and she smiled at their new arrival. "Young Master Tony, back from your fun so soon?"

"Uh …" Tony glanced down at the tiny human – which was still hugging his legs with its tiny arms, _hard_ , and looking up at him with its big, freakishly blue eyes – then back over to Ana. "That's not a Bernese Mountain Dog."

* * *

Recommended Reading: _Iron Man 2: Public Identity_ (2010); _International Iron Man_ (2016)


	3. 0-8-4

**February 5, 1990**

"I swear on my Cadillacs –"

"Your entire fleet of Cadillacs?" specified Peggy, carefully eyeing Howard.

"Yes," he assured her, "I swear on my entire fleet of Cadillacs."

"Even the _red_ ones?"

"Especially the red ones."

"All right," she said firmly, her English accent as crisp as ever, "you swear on your fleet of Cadillacs, _including_ the red ones, that this isn't some elaborate ruse to cover an extramarital affair."

"Hey!"Howard barked, deeply offended. "I would never do that to Maria."

Peggy Carter deflated, apologetic. "I know." Despite the shock that Howard Stark's fidelity would have caused in decades past, she had meant what she said. "But …" She didn't elaborate verbally, instead motioning to the alleged – now, sworn by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s _esteemed_ Executive Director Stark – spaceship. _Spaceship_. She had flown in from Washington, D.C. to stand inside a cramped, nigh empty and understandably chilly concrete room underneath the S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters in New York City with Howard and a _spaceship_.

"I'll swear to you on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s _legacy_ if I have to," he said seriously, his body language open and honest for her benefit. "This is real."

Peggy pursed her dusty pink lips, though there wasn't a hint of deceit on his person.

"I promise," added Howard solemnly.

She nodded in acceptance and he grinned wryly.

"You have to admit," Peggy said leadingly, "it does appear awfully suspect."

His wry grin grew. "Oh, we're counting on it."

"You're counting on …?" She shook her head, her impeccably curled and set, fading brown hair swaying above her shoulders. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but you'll definitely find out."

Howard's expression gave away his dark amusement. Peggy tutted disapprovingly and crossed her arms. This was a difficult situation. A difficult situation that had been made a _personally delicate_ difficult situation because of him.

"I assume this has something to do with the ill-advised involvement of Mr and Mrs Jarvis."

Because he was impulsive.

"I'm not going to apologise for that, Peg."

Because he was arrogant.

"You never do, Howard."

Because he was a _good friend_.

"I regret nothing."

Because he _cared_.

"And you never will," she sighed, partly exasperated, partly exhausted, partly fond. She couldn't punish Howard for the decision that he had made in Smallville the previous year. From every angle of the story she was told, from multiple sources – Howard loved to tell a tall tale, but Maria was (arguably) saner than he, and Peggy held the utmost trust in the Jarvises – she had to admit to herself that she would have made similar, if not the same, choices.

"So," began Howard eagerly, cutting to the reason they were sharing an awfully confined concrete box with a massive, metallic egg, "the 0-8-4 –"

"The _0-8-4_?"

"Yes, the 0-8-4."

"What's the 0-8-4?" asked Peggy, unfolding her arms. She didn't know whether that was supposed to be a new code she'd not yet been updated on or _hip_ teenage slang that Howard had picked up from his nineteen-year-old son.

Howard grandly gestured towards their Unidentified Flying Object: an egg-shaped pod encased in a diamond-like pentagonal structure, all of it made from an unusual dark metal. "This is an 0-8-4."

" _An_ 0-8-4?"

"Yes."

Peggy squinted at Howard suspiciously. "There's more than one?"

It was like Howard _enjoyed_ skating on thin ice. If there was a second UFO and he hadn't told her about it …

"Well, the other 0-8-4 is currently in our med lab," he explained poorly, "but seeing as he arrived in _this_ 0-8-4, they could be classified as one and the same if you really wanted to –"

Peggy blinked. _What?_

She held up a hand to halt his nonsensical spiel. "Howard." She needed a second to regain her bearings while she tread the tangled string that she imagined made up the parts of Howard Stark's mind which _were_ humanly comprehensible. At the moment, she was attempting to wade through the madness and tripping on invisible loose ends.

Howard mimicked her air of seriousness, which was nullified by the juvenile twinkle in his shrinking brown eyes and the undercurrent of good-natured mocking in his tone. " _Peggy_."

Good heavens, they were getting old, and yet Howard Stark was still as capable of indecorous childishness as the day she met him. Although, those days had gotten fewer and farther between with each passing year – both a relief and, oddly, a disappointment.

"What exactly is an '0-8-4' and why are you designating _this_ –" Peggy paused and took a deep breath. She was having a hard time grasping that this was real. "– _spaceship_ as such? Is it some sort of scientific terminology I'm too far removed from your fields of expertise to know about?"she hazarded a guess.

"Nope," said Howard, popping the 'p'. "Just a date."

And knowing what they were talking about would have been such a nice change of pace.

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Are you being difficult on purpose?" There was going to be another tension headache that she'd be naming after this ridiculous man.

"April eighth," he declared.

"The Smallville meteor shower happened in October."

"It did."

"Howard!"

"The boy's birthday," he deigned to elaborate. "The eighth of April. That's the date the Jarvises picked to put on the adoption papers."

"Which you fast-tracked through your wife's foundation without consulting me."

"I thought it was fitting," Howard wilfully steamrolled over her disapproval.

Peggy shot him a sharp look.

"I meant the _date_."

Backwards. He had steamrolled _backwards_ over her disapproval. A slightly more forgivable offence. _Slight_. A person had to learn to appreciate the slightest of nuances if they sought to retain their sanity around Howard's enduring ridiculousness.

"I think '0-8-4' has a nice ring to it," said Howard, sounding pleased with himself – sounding _normal_ , then. "'Object of Unknown Origin' is kind of a mouthful, don't you think?"

"Yes, because you've never been especially fond of cramming as many words into as many run-on sentences as physically possible," she said sarcastically.

"Who, out of the two of us, was it that came up with 'Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division', again?" rebutted Howard, chuckling.

Her face could not have been less impressed. "You wanted to christen our agency _HOWARD_." Her tone could not have been flatter.

"Well, STARK was already taken."

"By _your_ company."

Howard shrugged instead of puffing his chest out proudly – indicative of a sad but, nevertheless, marked improvement on his humility over the years. "Even in my rambunctious youth, I had great taste."

This was not the first time they'd had this conversation.

Suddenly, Howard pivoted on the heels of his polished black shoes and jaunted over to the door. "I'm gonna go check on our other 0-8-4." With a growing sense of purpose, he threw over his shoulder, "You coming, Peg?"

Peggy followed him, huffing. "Ridiculous, _ridiculous_ man."

* * *

Recs: _Marvel One-Shot: Agent Carter_ (2013); _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ S01E02 "0-8-4"


	4. Bucky Bear

A/N: Just an appetiser for the whole chapter, which'll hopefully be finished sometime this century.

* * *

 **February 5, 1990**

He had killed his best friend! And it was his fault!

Katz stared at his mangled best friend through distressed tears, loaded with remorse and anguish. "B― He – I – Bu―" he hiccupped in between shallow breaths. His gaze was fixated on the tufts of white stuffing that accusingly poked out from underneath the ripped brown fur.

"It's OK, Katz," his father tried to soothe him. Edwin's calm, level voice usually did the trick in a jiffy, but not this day, not this moment.

"No, it's not!" he cried. Katz Jarvis was a baddie. A villain! A monster! He didn't mean to, but he'd hurt the first friend he ever had.

Although his blue gaze was fixed on his best friend's torn shoulder, his watering, overlarge eyes were compelled to slide down towards the severed furry limb on the cold concrete floor. He was bad. He was evil. He was going to jail for this. He _should_ be going to jail for this. Bucky was dying because he was too strong _and_ too weak. His best friend was dying because he couldn't handle a little pain.

"It'll be OK, Katz."

Katz didn't dare move as his mother wrapped an oh-so-squishy, oh-so-breakable arm around his small shoulders. Ana laid an affectionate kiss he didn't deserve on the top of his head as he heard a stranger speak from the entrance of the medical laboratory. "Oh dear." The stranger's voice belonged to a lady, and it held a similar cadence to his father's. English, as he'd initially understood it. " _English_ -English," as Tony had told him.

The lady strode through the room, her dark high-heeled shoes clacking, the clacks loudly echoing in her wake. She had a serious but kind face, lined like his parents' faces, like Mr Stark's, who'd followed her into the med bay. Katz liked Mr Stark, but he wasn't sure Mr Stark would like him after he discovered what had happened to Bucky.


End file.
